


Sabriel stories

by Alice_huhhuhhhu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little angst, Angels, Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Comfort, Confessions, Crack, Cute, Fluff, Funny, Gabriel (Supernatural) Lives, Gabriel (Supernatural) is a Little Shit, Gabriel is not dead, Heaven, Humor, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Music, One Shot Collection, Radio, Random & Short, Trickster Gabriel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-14 23:24:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18486565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_huhhuhhhu/pseuds/Alice_huhhuhhhu
Summary: Just a place where I'm planning to collect random and short Sabriel ideas from spontaneous ideas or headcanons...





	1. This is me speaking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel has never been exactly good with words... until he finally manages to bring his feelings across   
> Something a bit different. Again, no idea where this came from, but I hope you like it.  
> To my friend: I couldn't help but think of you when writing this, so again, good luck for today!

I haven’t always been the Gabriel I am now, and I did quite a lot of things I’m not exactly proud of, including disappointing my father by running away and spending my time with shooting porn videos, which, to be honest, I don’t even regret, even though Sam begs to differ when it comes to that topic. Wait, thinking about it, I don’t really regret leaving haven either, because if I had stayed, I would have never learned how much fun it is to be a trickster…

Okay, okay, looking back, I have to admit that I don’t regret _anything_ _at_ _all_. Everything I did so far is part of how I got here, and believe it or not, I’m happy. Unfortunately, it hasn’t always been that way though.

 

“This is me speaking up” I decided as I chose to do something against all the hatred I felt inside, hatred towards my brothers and sisters, hatred towards my father who put so much weight on me for centuries, maybe towards myself too, even if just a little. Our family, heaven, had been broken from the start, there was no way to stop it, still God had tried his best to keep it together. Honestly, I admired him a bit for that, because in his place, I would have disappeared sooner.

Luci had always been sort of a dick, I see where that came from, but the rest of them? They were okay in my eyes, boring with no visible sense of humour, they would follow every order, almost like trained dogs or programmed robots. The real problem I had weren’t the angels. It was my father himself. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my old man, I was just pissed about the fact that he didn’t seem to care about others’ opinions, not one bit. “Do this here” and “Do that there” without explanation or reason, and if someone asked why the poor snake ended up without legs while spiders have eight of them, it was “because I say so”.

“Why am I not allowed to play pranks on Adam and Eve?”

“Because I say so.”

 “Why do _I_ have to bring the message to virgin Mary?”

“Because I say so.”

When the moment came that just I couldn’t take it anymore, when I didn’t know how to escape, I chose to fight for once. Not with my angel blade, but with words- something I had never done before, as I was known for… let’s call it “avoiding trouble”, or, as others may refer to it, “running away”. That method had worked for years and was the only thing that made staying upstairs partly bearable, but I was at my limit and something _had to be done_ , something had to _change_ , so I thought I might give this a try.

Now it was my time to be the one God listens to, and, I chuckled to myself at he thought, if he’d ask about why I’m so angry about this, I’d reply with a big fat “because I say so.”

 

“This is me speaking up” I wrote above the page I had filled with the things I wanted to say but never did, whatever came to my mind at the moment, really. To be fair, I had to scratch and erase a few colorful words here and there- because who was I to let myself be accused of blasphemy in the end. It was like I had emptied my brain and now all my thoughts laid before me in one big mess, waiting to be sorted out and put into sentences. I had them now, right in front of me, and all I had to do was to speak them. Appearances are deceptive. It turned out that this wouldn’t be as easy as I hoped for it to be.

I have never been a bookworm and probably will never be one, sorry Sammy. It was almost ironic, an ancient and powerful archangel struggling with such a simple task as working with words, but when I had arranged all these sentences in my head to form a message that was more precise than the “Ugh I’m so done” I usually went for when it got too much, I felt pretty damn proud of myself.

“This is me speaking up” I declared in my head, where I could see myself speaking in front of hundreds, no, thousands of people, because I wanted to be heard by as many as possible, because I had the desire to share my story and raise awareness. Awareness of my own existence, but also awareness of all those who, unlike me, hadn’t had the courage to speak up yet. All that I planned on doing, I practiced it, every day, every night. It was easy up there, when I was doing it in my head. Of course it was, because I _wanted_ it to be, but it would have been foolish to hope for this to work out perfectly in real life.

I tried to stay positive, but not to get my hopes up too high because even though nobody knew that side of me, I was secretly scared of falling… because I was sure that my wings wouldn’t carry me, not anymore.

“This is me speaking up” I said, voice a bit shaky but loud enough, with just the right amount of emotion and sobriety behind it, wanting to be heard but not quite screaming it out. It sounded like me, just like what I wanted it to sound like. The face in the mirror seemed to approve as well, showing me a weak smile upon realizing that I made it. There were suspicious tears in my eyes that I quickly willed away, and I didn’t really know why they were there in the first place, after all, I wasn’t exactly sad. I wasn’t really happy either though, just… overwhelmed upon hearing these words coming out of my mouth for the first time.

That was all. No reason to get all emotional about a couple of complaints.

Maybe… I was a bit afraid of what they might sound like when it counted, when my audience wouldn’t be a mirror. I wanted to _face_ God though, I was planning on doing so all along, because I wanted it to be personal. Yes, I admit, I can be sappy. _Screw it_. Sure, it would be harder to keep myself together when being watched by his judging eyes. Nonetheless, I wanted to do this the right way, no risk no fun, right?

 

“This is me speaking up” I mumbled, nervously, under my breath, standing in front of the door, heaven’s door, to be exact, already feeling judged and misunderstood as I was. On the outside I might have worn my usual smile, but on the inside, I was a wreck. Nobody seemed to notice the drops of sweat on my forehead, maybe because they didn’t care, or maybe because they just didn’t notice because I had gotten way too talented at hiding everything away, I don’t know. _I_ didn’t care either because the latter was going to end, right then and there, or rather within the following minutes, and I was looking forward to that.

One last breath. I entered the room that I’d always call the living room, although there was not much living in it. It was white, like, oh, almost _everything_ in heaven, and it felt nothing like home because it was as cold as a dead man’s body, but yeah, it was the living room. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” or so it says, but whoever once designed this must have been a soulless minimalistic bastard with no sense of warmth and comfort. Not like the design of this room would have made a difference for what was happening inside.

I sat down at the table, and I widened my fake smile upon noticing that my dad was already there, sitting in his throne, that cold, impressive throne, wearing a sleeping robe and eating a sandwich with eggs and bacon. He looked so innocent, like your average father whose special powers were making balloon animals for their children or reading them bedtime stories.

The only stories he’d read to me had been those which told me how to function as the archangel Gabriel though, he called it the Bible, a book speaking of his glory and wisdom. He wasn’t self-centred, not at all, but he had a strong sense of what was right and what was wrong in his eyes, and those were the only two sides that existed. There’s no gray in between black and white, there’s only black ink on pale, slightly yellowish pages that told me what to do. _Well, not anymore!_ I was determined to end it once and for all.

“This is me speaking up.” In horror, I noticed that my voice resembled a weak, hoarse cough, nothing like I had planned it to sound like, and my confidence immediately crumbled. I was too weak after all, I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t stand up for myself. _Why?_ Because I was the coward I had always been, because I was too scared of his reaction maybe, or his criticism, or anything that might have followed.

I had never been the most obedient child, and I have to admit that dad had trouble with me from time to time, but never had it been like this. Never before had I planned to turn my back on him, on heaven, on all of them. There are mistakes that you can only commit once, and looking back, this moment was definitely one of my bigger screw-ups, and that was something coming from an archangel who died multiple times.

“What did you say, Gabriel?” God asked, his mouth full, looking up from his sandwich that he was still happily chewing on.

Without hesitation, my body betrayed me as I lowered my head, fighting the urge to slam my fist on the table in frustration.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

 

“This is me speaking up.” What would have followed wouldn’t have sounded as peaceful as those few words, it would have been a full speech about my opinion and my choice of leaving my past behind, as it had surely done enough mental damage to me up to that point. I would have never been able to say all of it, that would have taken too long, would have taken _days_. I would have gotten lost in my speech, forgetting details that might have been important. I might have repeated myself a few times, because, well, doing everything for the first time is hard, especially when it was something this important, so the whole thing would have probably been the worst speech an angel had ever given.

In fact, I wasn’t even sure I would have been able to finish at all, I would have probably broken off somewhere in the middle. Maybe caught up in rage as I would have flipped the table, maybe screaming until my voice would have been too weak to be heard, maybe crying because the tears wouldn’t stop once I would’ve let them out. I don’t know, and I will never know, because I didn’t go through with it.

The chance was gone, the opportunity was over, and I was still the same old douchebag that I had been before, only that I hated myself a bit more now, only that I wanted to punch myself for the wasted effort.

 

“This is me speaking up” I hummed as I left, left dad and my brothers and sisters and heaven. I was speaking up, speaking through my actions, as I convinced myself. I hoped that they would get the message and stop searching for me eventually, but it turned out that nobody, absolutely _nobody_ was searching after all. Never did I counter someone who was asking about what had happened to the poor Gabriel. It was as if I had never been there in the first place, just one voice out of millions of voices, easily replaced.

Not that I would have wanted them to search, in fact, getting my ass kicked by heaven’s armies was nothing I desired, but still, not one word about me going missing? That was just pathetic, and I found myself looking upwards, almost praying as my mind formed the words “This is me speaking up” at no one in particular, then adding a “you little shits upstairs” because I couldn’t help but hate every singe one of them. The good ones, the bad ones, all of them. I decided not to choose a side, because no matter where I’d end up, nobody would understand what it was like to be in between, not belonging to anyone but myself.

 

I hadn’t heard that familiar voice in my head for a few years before it somehow found its way back inside my head, leading me to the Winchesters. They called me Loki, they called me trickster, but it took some time until I revealed my true nature, a meaningless title I had given up on long ago though. _Archangel_ _Gabriel_ , that has a nice ring to it, that sounds like power and courage, but it was nothing like who I really was, so Gabriel became another one of my stories, another legend from a fairy tale.

I wanted it to be over, secretly I had hoped that the world would finally end, because frankly, I didn’t give a damn about it. All cared about was the little entertainment I could get out of this, the way I could toy with the brothers and forget about my own role in this for a second.

I didn’t stick around for too long though; it just wasn’t my thing. Or… I was being a coward again. Call it what you want, I left. And returned. And left. And returned. And so on. It was an endless circle. Until something inside of me made me stop running and let me breathe. It was a silly idea at first, but over time, it got bigger and bigger. Words started to form in my head again, words that I tried to speak, and one by one, I could. They were simple things like “porn stars” (okay, maybe his one not so much) or a short “Thank you”, but they were words, and they were all (more or less) heartfelt, that was me _speaking_ _up_.

It was easy when I was with Sam, because I never feared rejection or criticism, I never had to. He was human and I could have turned him into a delicious chocolate bar with the snap of my fingers, but it wasn’t the feeling of being superior that gave me confidence. It was the feeling of being cared for and protected by the man who was, technically, much weaker than me. _Technically_ , yeah, when you leave out the small fact that I was low on grace at the point where I really started to open up to him. Nonetheless, I felt connected to him like I hadn’t felt connected to anybody for a very long time, maybe forever, even.

“This is me speaking up.”

The words had left my mouth so suddenly, I was surprised about them myself. They weren’t shouted, but not whispered either, and I was nervous as hell, yes, but I got them out in the end, even if it was for an entirely different reason than back when I had faced my father.

“What is it, Gabriel?” the hunter asked, worried at first because he knew that my serious tone was usually caused by bad news, but his expression changed to a wide-eyed stare after my next confession.

“I think I might love you.”

And even though I can’t exactly remember what had happened afterwards - it was all a mess of kisses and positive affirmations- but I concluded that it was right to speak up after all. What it took was a little bit of confidence to survive the short _oh shit_ \- moment in between of statement and reply, but it was worth it. Hell, yeah it was. And maybe I’m not a coward anymore, either.

 _Maybe_. I still hate doing research with my own personal hunter, so it could be possible that I ran a few times and hid away from the books he’d ask me to read, but… you can’t blame me for that. I’m Gabriel after all. Not Gabriel the archangel, not daddy’s perfect little soldier, but Gabriel, the handsome guy who dies from time to time, who finally learned to stand up for himself and occasionally shows up to parties dressed in drag, just because he can.

 

You only live once…

…okay, I don’t. But you get the point.


	2. Radio requests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel decides to annoy Sam by requesting a very special song for him...

„Aaaand that’s it for the weather forecast for today. Thanks for listening to us, now we’ll continue with “West Coast” by Imagine Dragons!”

Sam put down the book he was currently reading to reach out for the squeaky radio in their motel room in order to turn up the volume. Dean stopped chewing on his burger and gave him a confused look, followed by his younger brother raising his shoulders with an apologetic expression.

“What? I like the song.”

The shorter one shook his head in disapproval and dropped a comment on how it was even possible for the bookworm to listen and research at the same time, but he got no reply.

“What does Gabriel think about your taste of music?” He tried again, and this time, he successfully attracted the other one’s attention, at least Sam closed the book with a loud snapping noise.

“Why do you always have to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Ask about Gabriel. It’s not like we’re a married couple, so shut your mouth already.”

“Not _married yet_ , maybe” Dean kept teasing happily, “but you have to be considering it already, aren’t you, Sammy?”

“Oh, two can play this game. Don’t get me started about the _profound bond_ ” he exaggeratedly imitated Cas’ air quotes, “you have with Cas. The two of you are so in love, it’s unbearable. And if you don’t shut up, I will tell your trenchcoated crush all of your embarrassing secrets.”

These were the moments when they really had time to behave like normal brothers, arguing and teasing each other about the most basic things and, for once, not having to worry about the other one dying. Although Sam couldn’t stand it when Dean brought up the topic of a certain archangel that checked in more and more often recently, he couldn’t be mad for too long… concerning that Dean wasn’t all that wrong with his assumptions.

He wouldn’t describe them as a couple yet, but there was definitely _something_ , and, whatever it was, he was grateful for it. Dean hadn’t been exactly supportive at the start, which the younger Winchester had expected since the older one had been killed by the trickster over a hundred times, but eventually he’d gotten used to their relationship. And hey, if he was constantly making jokes about that, it couldn’t bother him that much anymore, so maybe he was also a little grateful for his brother’s hesitant approval.

Tapping his feet to the rhythm of the music, Sam could at least enjoy the last verse before the song ended and the radio announcer’s voice set in again.

“As usual, we will now play a few requested songs. The first suggestion comes from Gabriel who wants to greet… Sam Winchester.”

In the background, Dean snorted loudly and almost choked on the last bite of his burger while Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, only to be furrowed in anger seconds later.

“Sam, I hope you’re listening, this song is only for you: Heat of the Moment by Asia!”

Now, Dean was actually gasping for air, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he kept smashing his fist on the table in a fit of laughter. Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to join in or cry his eyes out. Okay, first of all, he’d get rid of that radio, because after the first half of the chorus he felt like he would throw up if he’d hear the oh-so-familiar melody just one more time. In one swift movement, the small, innocent device was picked up and thrown in Dean’s direction where it hit the wall behind the older hunter’s head and immediately went silent.

“Dude, no need to get aggressive” the taller man managed to huff out between giggles, “we should leave before the cleaning lady notices or we’ll have to replace that.”

That was the first, but, much to Sam’s dismay, not the last time Gabriel was so kind to send him a message via radio.

 

The second time, it happened while they were on the road. It was the day after the motel incident, therefore they had, as Dean had suggested, disappeared without a sound right after breakfast. When they had listened to the quiet rumbling of Baby’s engine and Dean’s favorite mixtape for multiple hours on repeat, Sam finally persuaded him to switch to radio. Turned out it wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had…

“That’s it for today’s special- wait, a last call is coming in right now. It’s… for Gabriel’s boyfriend, Sam. Here’s Asia with Heat of the Moment! Strange, I could have sworn we had something similar yesterday… but whatever. Enjoy and thank you for listening!”

By the time the first chords were playing, Sam was smashing his forehead on the window. Dean, still smiling at the situation like the dumbass big brother he was, considered to pull over before the taller one got the idea to destroy this radio as well, but he kept himself together surprisingly well and, after a few deep breaths that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter, he generously allowed the older one to play his mixtape for the millionth time to escape this madness.

 

One might think Gabriel had gotten tired after playing the same prank on Sam twice, but knowing his archangel, the hunter should have known that this wasn’t over yet.

For the following days, he spent his evenings hoping the inevitable wouldn’t repeat itself. Each time, he was disappointed as the poor speaker had to announce the same thing repeatedly, significantly annoyed by the procedure as well, but if he liked it or not, both of them had to endure this. There was no permission to deny a request, and, Sam was sure of this, even if there was one, Gabriel would be the first one to break it.

After the first week, he contemplated staying away from the radio for good, but that was not an option since he loved listening to music- _regular_ music that didn’t remind him of a possible trauma- way too much, besides, he couldn’t forbid Dean to listen to his favorite station while on the road. During the last week, he had learned to fear that mixtape with its short number of tracks he just couldn’t stand listening to anymore, so he was glad when his older bother had mercy on him. To be honest, otherwise he’d have hidden the cassette somewhere the shorter one would never find it again.

No day went by without the same announcement: a daily dose of Heat of the Moment for Sam Winchester, Sammy, Sammich or moose. Gabriel got creative with his instructions and messages, going from a platonic “I want to greet my friend” to “Hey Samsquatch, let me seduce you with your favorite song, you know you like it”, so basically he embarrassed him in front of the whole audience by saying questionable things that… _absolutely_   shouldn’t be said on the radio, especially _not_ in connection with his name.

“This has to stop” he groaned in frustration, letting his head rest on the dashboard of the car. Dean supported the trickster, of course he was on the angel’s side with this one, but by now, he had started to pity him at least a little bit.

“This has to stop… but _how_?”

Suddenly his face lit up and a mischievous smile spread on his lips.  Taking out his phone, he snickered to himself.

“Time to get that midget a taste of his own medicine…”

A few minutes later, a new request came in, dedicated to none other than “Gabriel, the candy-addicted bastard” himself. The archangel frowned in confusion, waiting for what was about to come. And he was not disappointed.

 

“Here’s a title from Miles Betterman: The Dickhead Song!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only found out about this song while writing, and if you've also never heard of it before, you should listen to it... it put me into a surprisingly good mood xD


End file.
